


you can't wake up (this is not a dream)

by sagexbrush



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Death, Dramatic, F/M, Future Fic, Shippy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagexbrush/pseuds/sagexbrush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her hands clench into fists, and she beats them against his chest, tears rising to her eyes and everything's falling apart around her now.</p><p>"I was screaming," she sobs, "I was screaming 'wake up', I screamed it for hours and hours and days and days, and all I wanted was you to answer me! Say something! Anything!"</p><p>His smile is bittersweet. "You can't really answer someone if you're dead Lydia."<br/>.<br/>.<br/>(Or, the dead start coming back to life in Beacon Hills, and everything's going to hell.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. frost killing hour

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to snow frost, as always!

“So Lydia,” Dr. Smithson says, crossing her legs and balancing her clipboard on her knee. Lydia has never understood why therapists didn’t feel the need to sit behind, oh she didn’t know, a _desk_? “How long has it been again since you went to Beacon Hills?”

            Lydia twists uncomfortably in her seat. If it weren’t for the persistent little voice and Dr. Smithson’s call at the opportune moment, she wouldn’t be here. She’d be at the airport, three hours too early for early because of nerves. She didn’t need an extra analysis of her emotions _thank you very much._

            “Six years,” she replies tightly, they’ve already been over this, and they both know Lydia’s answers by heart.

            “Since – “

            “Since Stiles died,” Lydia cuts her off, her voice hard. She’s learned things the hard way. Speaking slowly, letting the words come out in an odd flow of sorts – it wouldn’t _help_. It was better to rip off the band aide.

            Like she did every time she said those three words.

            Dr. Smithson scratches something down on her clipboard.

            “And why now?”

            Lydia swallows down the words she wants to say and instead plasters on a smile, “It’s my friend Scott’s wedding.”

            It’s a lie. Scott isn’t any closer to getting married than she is.

            “And you decided to go back for him?”

            Lydia smiles, a tight, worn smile that betrays none of her former emotions of the last week (which had alternated between sobbing, giggling and having raging fits of anger) and replies briskly, “I owe him that much.”

            “You seem to have been doing excellent lately Lydia,” Dr. Smithson says, “I don’t want this to dredge up any old demons for you.”

            “There’s no need to worry about me,” Lydia says softly, and then firmer, “I’m fine. Really.”

            (Now, if only she believed that one.)

 

***

Scott meets her at the airport, a cardboard sign clutched in his grip with the words _Lydia_ in blue permanent marker. He looks older, more tired, and there’s almost a slight trembling to his fingers that never used to be there.

            Malia’s standing beside him, although Lydia can’t really imagine why the other girl had decided to come with him, her bright eyes and vibrant smile almost suggesting that she was just like any other people their age (as in, unscarred.)

            Scott is the one to hug her first, before she has a chance to say anything, his face burying briefly in her hair.

            “Thanks for coming,” he murmurs, and she pulls back with another false smile.

            “It’s no problem,” she lies, it had been a problem, “You said you needed my – “

            “Shh!” Malia whispers quickly, placing a finger on her lips. Lydia’s tempted to point out that made them look _more_ suspicious than if she had just shut her mouth and let her talk, but one look from Scott quells that thought.

            Apparently this was a sensitive issue.

            Not that she really knew what the issue _was_ , Scott had barely described anything to her over the phone, just that matter’s had arisen and they really needed her help because she had _particular_ talents – which she took to mean that she about to find some more dead bodies.

            “We’ll talk later,” Scott promises, slinging an arm around her shoulder. Malia hops up next to her and her arm brushes protectively against Lydia’s. Ah, that was why Malia had come. _Backup._

Lydia bites her lip, “My luggage – “

            “Liam said he’d grab it,” Scott says, “Didn’t want to inconvenience you.”

            “What – did the entire pack come?” Lydia asks, and Scott shrugs (slightly guiltily).

            “They wanted to,” he explains, “It’s not everyday – “ he doesn’t finish his sentence, but she knows what he was going to say. _It’s not everyday that someone comes back._

The missing ones probably outnumbered the remaining.

            _Jackson. Erica. Boyd. Allison. Aiden. Ethan. Isaac. Derek. Stiles._

“It’s good to be back!” liar, liar pants on fire. She would have been perfectly fine (better in fact) if she never had to see this stupid little town ever again.

            “We were thinking about all grabbing lunch at Scott’s house,” Malia says, “And _talking_.”

            _God_ , someone needed to teach this girl about undercover skills.

            “Sure,” Lydia agrees amicably enough, “Who will be there?”

            _Who’s left?_

“Me, Malia, Liam, Hayden, Kira and my mom plus the Sheriff,” Scott lists off, and Lydia’s stomach clenches. _The Sheriff._

“Sounds good,” she finally manages, “What are we having?”

           

***

 

            It’s when they’re in Scott’s house that they all seem to relax. It was true that the majority of them had come to see her off at the airport, minus Kira (who had been getting lunch ready) and the adults, and the car ride over had been awkward and filled with a million things left unsaid.

            Needless to say, she was thankful to be out into Scott’s dining room.

            Kira looks happy enough, but Lydia notices the way she avoids looking directly at Scott, and the way Scott avoids her gaze too. Everything about the pair of them reads _bad break up._

Lunch is a gigantic meal of probably everything Kira could think of, and Lydia can feel the Sheriff’s eyes on her while she’s loading up her plate with potato salad. The Sheriff. Not Stiles’ Dad. She’s not going to think of him like that any longer.

            “It’s so good to see you again,” Melissa smiles warmly at her, and Lydia feels instantly at peace. It’s something about that gaze, about the warm feeling of a mother, a _true_ mother (not like her own, whom she hadn’t spoken to in six years either) that somehow made her feel welcome again, like she hadn’t left. Without saying anything.

            “It’s nice to see you too,” she responds, and she means it.

            “So Lydia,” it’s the Sheriff, and the sound of his voice makes her tense. She forces herself to look at him, but every thought running through her head is saying the same thing. _I wonder if Stiles would have looked like that if he had gotten older._ “What have you been up to?”

            Everyone’s heads flit towards her, and she watches Liam bring a fork to his mouth and miss, splattering mac and cheese down his front.

            _So Lydia, have you moved on from him?_

Her chest constricts.

            “Work,” she answers, her voice hard, “I don’t have time for anything else.”

            _Like I could move on from him._

            “What do – “

            “Don’t we have something to discuss?” she cuts off, “I don’t think you went out of your way to contact me for no reason. What do you need my help for?”

            They stare at, surprised by her abruptness. _Well,_ she thought to herself, _I’m not the same Lydia._

“We want to talk to you first,” Scott finally answers, “Get to know you again.”

            “No she’s right,” she’s surprised when Hayden speaks up, she’s had minimal interaction with the other girl. “We shouldn’t keep dancing around it. She needs to know the facts.”

Liam nods in agreement, but Lydia thinks that it’s probably because it’s _Hayden_ that’s talking, as opposed to Kira or someone else.

            Scott looks down at his plate, and there are a few moments of ringing silence. Lydia knows she probably she say something to fix the things she’s already broken, but at the same time she doesn’t want to. _You don’t owe them anything,_ she reminds herself, _they’re not Stiles._

“Fine,” Scott sounds slightly more determined when he talks next. “We needed you because you’re a banshee.”

            Lydia rolls her eyes. “Oh really? I thought you were wanting me for fashion advice.”

            “Deaton said it would be best if we came to you,” Liam inputs eagerly, “Because we know that we can trust you.”

            He’s the only one who’s looking at her when they say this, and she knows that while to naïve Liam that might be the truth, to the rest of them it was still up in the air.

            She’s surprisingly okay with that.

            “You can trust me,” she says, surprising herself. She puts down her fork. “What do you need my help with?”

            She can already tell something’s wrong in Beacon Hills. It’s a stirring in the back of her mind, the ringing of voices that never seem to leave her alone, the secrets lying deep in her friends eyes – _I’ve enhanced your abilities._

Scott swallows. She watches Kira’s eyes flash to his form, and then flash away again.

            “The dead are coming back,” Malia says, breaking the silence as easily as a knife cuts through butter.

            Lydia gapes. She should be terrified, the dead coming back should _never_ be considered a good thing, but something else stabs at her insides. _Hope._

“To life?” she clarifies, and Scott’s grip on his fork tightens.

            “Yes,” he answers, “But they’re not the problem.”

            “Then what is?”

            He finally lifts his eyes up to her’s. “The person who’s bringing them back,” he says, “Is sacrificing other’s to bring these people back. A _lot_ of people.” 

            Lydia’s lip twitches. “How many?”

            This time it’s Liam, his voice small, “We think that you need three people killed to bring one back, so far – six?”

            “Two people have been brought back?” Lydia leans forward despite herself. “Who?” _Please._

“Two random patients from the hospital,” Scott rubs his eyebrows, “Mom said they died around five years ago, and suddenly they’re coming back into the hospital, coming in for prescriptions like everything’s normal.”

            Lydia’s eyes flutter shut. _Nameless faces._

_It would make it easier at least._

Her eyes flash open again. She can see why they want her. She predicted death. Maybe she could follow the trail.

            She grins, the smile more confident than she feels, “Well, you came to the right person.”


	2. help me close my eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where was she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i've decided to update this story tuesdays and Thursdays for one reason.  
> this story is set up so every other chapter is a flash back chapter, like this. and because the chapters are so short, i figured might as well right?  
> so enjoy this. i know it's kind of weird, but i promise that it'll make more sense in the end.  
> probably.

**_six years earlier_ **

 

She hates this place.

            Hates the narrow, yellow hallways that smell like stale urine, hate the way the people look at her, hates the aching in her skull and the never ending winding of voices. She hates the painkillers, because they don’t do anything.

            He’s decided to leave her alone for the meantime (thank god) he hasn’t stopped talking for a while now, about Theo, about why his sister died, about the Dread Doctors.

            She just wants to go home.

            Wherever home is anymore.

            A stray tear slips down her face, her eyes blankly focusing on the opposite wall. She used to be the best at focusing. Now she doesn’t want to focus at all.

            “I have some food Lydia,” snaps the woman who brings the food, not even bothering to stare anymore at Lydia’s greasy hair or the disarray of her clothes. They didn’t have any good shampoo in this place.

            She wonders why the nurses don’t do more to help her.

            She wonders why they don’t seem to notice the gaping hole in her head.

            Lydia turns her head away as the nurse bangs the tray down on the bedside table next to her. It’s slush mostly, slush stuck between two sheets of bread.

            No utensils.

            She waits until the nurse leaves. She hates to eat with an audience.

            Her fingers tremble slightly as she lifts the hastily made sandwich to her mouth. She’s not eating because she wants to, but because she needs her strength.

            She needs her strength for when they rescue her.

            They would come, wouldn’t they? Scott, her alpha, Malia, Kira, Liam – _Stiles_. Stiles would come.

            He had to.

            He always came for her.

            She finishes eating in one big gulp, slumping back against the pillow.

            “Oh Ally,” she whispers to no one, because Allison’s dead and gone and Stiles hasn’t come for her yet and she’s _alone_ , “Who’s going to save me now?”

            (It certainly wasn’t going to be herself. Not anymore.)

 

***

            He starts to wonder about Lydia after she doesn’t show up to check on his Dad. She’s always been fond of the Sheriff, Lydia has, and he’s certain that she would have come. At least to support him. Lydia had a knack for those kinds of things usually.

            Scott’s sitting in one of the waiting chairs, barely recovered himself, shoulder slumping, eyes downcast.

            Stiles still doesn’t know how to act around him. Who would?

            _Some of us are human._

“Have you seen Lydia?” he frowns down at his phone, she didn’t pick up. Scott shakes his head. Lydia doesn’t _not_ pick up. None of them do anymore.

            “She hasn’t been answering my calls.”

            Stiles’ eyes widen. “Then why are you here?”

            Scott automatically looks alarmed, like he’s _scared_ of Stiles for whatever reason, like _Stiles_ could do anything to _the_ Scott McCall – but he’s more focused on one pressing manor that’s banging around in his head with the words _third grade._

“What do you mean?”

            “I mean, why aren’t you trying to find her?” Stiles demands, because he’s been distracted by his Dad and has an excuse but Scott? Scott has run out of distractions eons and eons ago. Ever since he got ahold of his werewolf abilities. _No more excuses._

            “I – I didn’t think there was anything wrong.”

            “There’s nothing wrong with her suddenly not answering her phone right after the massive battle we just went through?”

            “I thought,” Scott stumbles over his words, “I thought she was just taking her time with the Theo thing.”

            The Theo thing. The thing that may have changed everything, for good. And Stiles had been saying it the entire time. _Why can’t you trust anyone?_

Stiles gets up before he can stop himself, his legs shaking slightly.

            “I’ll find her,” Scott says, walking ahead of him into the hallway like he knows what he’s doing, and Stiles _snaps_. No more Scott McCall. No more Scott McCall pretending like he knew what he was doing, no more Scott acting like he was the king of everything, like he could fix all his mistakes by finding Lydia, but that was Stiles job, he was the one who always found Lydia and -

            He’s too fast, practically running forward and with a strength he didn’t know he possessed, and he grabs Scott by the shoulders and slams him against the wall, and then to the floor, landing on top of him, pressing his best friend’s throat/

            “WHERE WERE YOU SCOTT?” he shouts, “You trusted him, you believed him, so where were you?”

            (Scott doesn’t have an answer.)     

            The doctors pull him off, Stiles still screaming _where were you._

_And where was Lydia?_

_Oh god, where was she?_

           

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave me your comments my lovelies!


	3. and there's a storm you're starting now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO BEFORE WE START I HAVE A COUPLE OF ANNOUNCEMENTS.   
> or just two.  
> FIRST, i could really use a beta for this story, so i don't have to keep shoving it in my best friend's face when she doesn't even really ship stydia (thank you annika) so if anyone's interested that would be awesome!   
> SECOND, i now have an ig! well i always had one, but now i have an instagram specially reserved for fanfiction, where i like to recommend stydia fics (who doesn't want a list of stydia fics) and i can tell you guys when this story is updated, which is fun.  
> anyways, the user is stydia.fics (i know, creative) but i also have another one with the user fitzsimmmons which is just fandom pictures.  
> ANNOUCMENTS OVER.  
> also, for whatever reason it keeps posting the 'is anyone interested' at the bottom of chapters I'M SORRY I CAN'T GET RID OF IT!!

She doesn’t waste time.

            The moment lunch is over, she’s rifling in her bag for her bestiary. She doesn’t want to be in Beacon Hills very long.

            Even here, in Scott’s brand new home, she can nearly see him.

            He’s slightly out of sight, a shadow in the corner of her mind, a presence that she constantly forgets _isn’t_ real, that no matter what funny joke she thinks up, or what new mystery, or how loud the voices have gotten – he won’t be there. He won’t be next to her, his warm arm pressing up against her’s and his breath stirring her hair as she tries to find the solution to this problem before it escalates. Despite the shadow.

            The other’s are milling around, they’re the fighters, not solvers, and she figures that’s also part of the reason they needed her. They aren’t Stiles. She isn’t Stiles either, but she’s the closest they’ve got.

            She flips through the bestiary. In the weeks after Stiles’ death, she had been obsessed with order. Everything had to be pristine, everything had to be neat and precise so no more mistakes would be made.

The bestiary is now covered in little post it tabs, different colors for different types of supernatural creatures.

            Magic is red. Magic is unpredictable, and unpredictable leads to unsolved. (Yellow is defined, blue is just pretty.)

            The words wash over her mind as she flips past red tab after red tab, she knows it’s in here. She knows she’s seen something like this before.

            “Here we go!” she declares, having flipped the page to a rather gruesome picture of a pile of dead bodies. “I think I know what we’re dealing with.”

            Scott moves fast, suddenly he’s standing in the place Stiles used to stand, and Lydia bristles.

            “What is it?” he peers at the Archaic Latin like he can read it.

            “It’s most likely a Necromancer,” she reads, “And you’re right. They kill people to bring back individuals but –“ she stops, her breath catching in her throat, “But you said six people have died?”

            “Well we haven’t found their bodies,” Scott says, rubbing the back of his neck, “But yeah. We’re assuming six have died.”

            Lydia wants to roll her eyes. They had seriously called her here on nothing more than a whim.

            “Well, you have kill them years in advance,” she says, “Six years.”

            “Six years?” Malia’s alarmed, and Lydia wants to say _no, Stiles doesn’t count, he can’t have, this can’t –_

Then she remembers.

            “Oh god,” she whispers, “It’s been six years, hasn’t it?”

            “What’s been six years?” Scott’s a little slow, he doesn’t remember it like she does – the blood, oh the _blood_ – It’s Hayden that answers, her eyes dark, her head peeking around the doorway to look at them.

            “It’s been six years since the massacre.”

            Lydia swallows hard.           

            “How many people were killed that day?”

            “Including Stiles?”

            Her heart constricts. The last to die.

            “Including Stiles.”

            Scott swallows. “Twenty-two.”

            Lydia lets the book fall from her hands and clatter loudly to the floor.

 

***

            They decide to act later. They need the facts first, they need to know what they’re up against, they need to _figure_ it out. There’s no saving those twenty-two people now. In fact, there _is_ no one to save.

            She’s staying in Scott’s spare bedroom for now, and the first thing she does is goes to the store and buys lots of red, blue and yellow string. They’re going to need it.

            She starts by tacking up the faces of those who died. Stiles face smiles up at her from the middle, and her chest constricts painfully.

            “Lydia?” it’s Scott, and he only pauses to barely knock on the doorframe

            “Oh, hi,” she says, then gestures to the mess on the wall, “I hope you don’t mind. I was just putting the facts together.” Scott pauses for a moment, his eyes giving away nothing as he looks at Stiles face.

            “You miss him, don’t you?” he asks, and she thinks it’s probably the stupidest question he’s ever asked her.

            Who wouldn’t miss him?

            “Every day,” she whispers, “It’s like – “

            “Like an open wound,” he finishes, rubbing the upper half of his arm, and she remembers that other than her, Scott McCall is the only one who has lost both his best friend and someone he loved.

            She nods, swallowing hard.

            “At least we know why it happened now,” she whispers, tracing her fingers over their faces, “At least we know why they died.”

            “I can’t believe it,” he says, “We’ve been looking for answers for six years and suddenly it’s just there? I just can’t believe it.”

            “Me neither,” she says, “And I think for whatever reason, it was meant to be this easy in the end. I think whoever is controlling them wanted us to figure it out.”

            “Why?”

            She places her hand, fingers splayed, on Stiles’ face.

            “To make us weak,” she whispers, “To bring up all of these old memories.”

            “I told Malia to call Theo,” he says quietly, and Lydia’s eyes flicker to meet his. “It’s just as much his business as it is ours.”

            “Is anything his business?” she asks coolly, because she doesn’t trust Theo, like Stiles, and that was one of his final requests after all. _Stay sharp Lyds._

“When the person who killed off the majority of his pack is suddenly bringing people back from the dead? Yeah, I kind of think he deserves to know.”

            Lydia’s hands clench. _It’s not his fault,_ she tries to reason with herself, _it’s not Theo’s fault that he’s dead._

Or was it?

            “He’s a monster.”

            “I know.”

            Suddenly she’s hugging Scott, and she doesn’t know why exactly, because everything kind of leads back to Scott McCall and she almost maybe hates him – but he’s the only one who _knows_ what it’s like. Who _knows_ the gaping hole in her chest that Allison and Stiles have left her.

            He hugs her back.

 

***

            Malia is really sort of hoping that Theo won’t pick up. She understands why Scott asked _her_ to call him, it wasn’t that hard to figure out, but it didn’t mean she liked it.

            “ _Hello_?” his voice is gruff over the line, and it sends tingles down her spine. She hasn’t heard it in four years.

            “Hey Theo, it’s Malia!” she says, perhaps a bit too forcefully, trying desperately hard not to sound… desperate.

            “ _Malia?_ ” he sounds surprised. She doesn’t blame him. She’d probably be surprised too. There’s a thump, a pause, and then he continues. _“Why are you – what are you calling for?”_

She knows that he’s probably hoping that she’s calling for some other reason than for what she’s _actually_ calling for.

            “We know why your pack died.”

            Silence. She doesn’t know what to say. It’s not like he got real acquainted with most of the members of his pack (Hayden excluded) before the massacre, but she knows that it haunted him for at least two years afterwards.

            “ _You do_?”

            “We think a necromancer killed them so he or she can bring other people back today,” she says, toying with the edge of her shirt.

            _“I’m coming back.”_

“Theo I’m not sure – “

            _“You can’t stop me.”_

She sighs. When has anyone ever been able to stop Theo?

            “You better not get in the way,” she threatens, trying to make her voice sound as stern as possible.

            _“Since when have I ever gotten in the way?”_ his tone is joking, but Malia can feel the words underneath, chafing. She thought he’d still be upset.

            “I’ll see you then,” she says, “And I won’t be afraid to kick your ass if you get any funny ideas.”

 

***

            His fists clench on top of the tombstone, and he has to fight back tears as he looks down at the name carved into the stone.

            “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he bites his lip, tasting blood, “I mean, I should know, but I just _don’t_.”

            His brother doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t, he can’t _hear_ him.

            He rests his head against the stone, “I didn’t mean for all this to happen,” he says to the stone, even though he’s not entirely sure _that’s_ true. “I didn’t mean for all those people to die all those years ago, all I wanted was _you_ back.”

            He coughs. “I didn’t mean to become the necromancer,” he whispers.


	4. led by your beating heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much guys!  
> comment if you like the chapter, i love talking to you guys. AND SOME OF YOU ACTUALLY READ LIKE ALL MY STORIES SO THANK YOU OMG YOU ACTUALLY PUT UP WITH MY CRAPPY WRITING!  
> .  
> find me at ig, fitzsimmmons or stydia.fics

****

The rest of them are too busy to deal with Theo.

            Stiles is too busy with his Dad and Lydia, Scott’s too busy with Lydia and the mess he’s made, and Kira’s gone.

            Malia’s alone.

            For the first time, she’s feeling a slight sympathy towards Lydia. This must have been what it felt like when the legendary Allison died, even though Malia personally hadn’t _really_ met her, when Stiles gravitated away from her. He had told Malia, long before they started dating, that he couldn’t be near Lydia. It was what had prompted her to go after him in the first place.

            _I can’t be near her because it’s my fault,_ he had whispered, chest heaving after a nightmare of some sort, _it’s my fault Allison died._

So Malia decides, because she’d rather be distracted than think about Stiles, - _it matters to me –_ to track down Theo and beat the shit out of him. She’s rather sick of him and his words and his perfect abs and his _ugh_.

            She’s tracked him to his ‘house’ if that’s what it could be called, a fake image for a fake boy.

            Her car is parked across the street, and she’s slunk down, hiding her face from onlookers. She wants more than anything to rip Theo’s face from his perfect body and throw it to the coyotes. Call that pack mentality.

            She’s debating what would be the best way to –

            “Look what we have here,” Theo’s voice startles her, she kicks both her legs up in the air and lets out a girlish sound she’ll _never_ admit to later before snapping her head up and seeing him leaning against her car door, a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth.

            She regains composure almost instantly, straightening her spine and letting her claws come out (just a little bit to let him know that she’s not defenseless).

            “Theo,” she says as coolly as she manages, “What are you doing here?”

            Of course, that’s perhaps the stupidest fucking question she could have asked, but it was out into the world now so she might as well go with it now.

            “This is where I live,” he says, and she rolls down her window so he can talk to her more easily, “I think the real question is- “

            Her fist flies out before he can finish his sentence, slamming into his nose with a loud crunching sound.

            “That was for locking me in a closet,” she snarls, kicking out the door and lunging to her feet, preparing for him to fight back.

            Therefore, she’s very surprised when he leans over, wheezing, blood spattering the sidewalk from his presumably broken nose, and begins to _laugh_.

            “Suppose I deserved that,” he gasps, and she’s wondering if she should kick him in the stomach again.

            “Deserved it?” she demands, “You know Lydia’s missing right now? Stiles just texted me. And I’m guessing that’s thanks to you, bastard.”

            He looks surprised. “I didn’t do anything to Lydia. I mean I took her to see my pack, but I didn’t kidnap her or anything.”

            Her nose crinkles. _His pack._

“Jackass.”

            “Bitch,” he responds vehemently, getting to his feet. “You’re not here because you actually think I have Lydia, are you? You’re here for something else.”

            She hesitates, fists still raised, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “Really?” he steps closer, and she notices (despite herself) that his breath smells like cinnamon gum. “You don’t want Lydia to be found.”

            She fires up at once, “Of course I do!”

            “No you don’t,” he smirks, “Because Stiles is in love with her.”

            Her stomach crumples in unexpected pain, _I notice more than you think I do._ Her animal instinct right now is to run. _Run Malia, run._

“He’s not,” she growls, more defensive than she thought she’d be.

            “And you’re not in love with Stiles,” Theo says this like he knows her, like he’s read her mind and knows her emotions and feelings and she hates him, hates him like he hates her mother, so it’s rather satisfying when her fist comes out and slams into his face again.

            He swears, but again, he doesn’t fight back.

            “You don’t know me!” she spat, “So don’t pretend like you do.”

            He steps closer. “But don’t I?” he jeers, and then, “I need to talk to Scott.”      

            “Like hell.”

            “I’m serious. It’s about something,” and for the first time, something like fear sparks his eyes, “Something’s coming.”

 

***

            When Malia comes into the room with Theo, Scott has to fight the urge to slam the other boy into a wall and show him the power of a true alpha.

            Still, Malia was one of the only ones to trust him again easily, and he thinks that’s saying something considering it took Stiles a couple months to convince the other girl not to eat them when she got frustrated.

            “He wants to talk,” Malia snarls, and he notices her extended claws are right at Theo’s back, “Says something’s coming.”

            Stiles is sitting next to him, a whiteboard filled with (useless) plans to rescue Lydia from wherever she was in front of them. His best friend wasn’t on good terms with him yet, but he finding Lydia and rescuing her if needed was their top priority.

            Theo grins. “I won’t talk with those two in the room,” he says, bobbing his head in the direction of Malia and Stiles.

            “Like hell,” Malia snarls.

            “Do as he says, “Scott decides, and the pair of them turn on him at once.

            “Are you seriously kidding me?” Stiles demands, “After what he did to Lydia?”

            This makes Malia visibly bristle.

            “We need to know what he wants to say,” Scott says, “It could have something to do with Lydia.”

            He’s pretty sure it doesn’t.

            Malia doesn’t seem to want to disobey her alpha, but she makes sure to kick Theo in the back of the leg before she goes.

            Stiles just shakes his head, “You know,” he says, “Maybe if you listened to me once in a while, things would actually work out for once.”

            (Scott has to pretend that doesn’t sting because he’s still standing in front of Theo.)

            Stiles makes sure to bang the door shut on his way out.

            “So Theo,” Scott makes sure to make his eyes glow red, “What do you want?”

            “Calm down Scott,” Theo raises his hands in defense, “I’m just here to talk. If I wanted to attack, I would have brought my pack.”

            “You’ve done enough talking,” Scott snaps. It’s true. All Theo has done is talk.

            “Something’s coming,” Theo repeats Malia, “My years spent… investigating,” he chooses his words carefully, “The Dread Doctors, have taught me how to spot a storm when it’s coming.”

            “And what kind of storm is coming?” Scott asks before he can stop himself.

            “Death,” Theo answers, “Death is coming.”

 

***

            “It’s no use,” Stiles says, as Malia presses her ear against the door, “Scott’s doors are really thick for whatever reason.”

            Malia growls.

            “We need to talk,” she finally says, and he rolls his eyes.

            “Oh so now you want to talk?” he asks, “I mean, it’s not like talking before would have been beneficial or anything.”

            “Why are you mad I didn’t tell you I knew you killed Donovan?” Malia asks, sounding exasperated.

            Stiles snaps. He doesn’t know why he keeps snapping, why he keeps feeling like he’s suddenly some breakable thing, like his emotions are bubbling under the surface and ready to explode at any moment.

            He’s a volcano.

            “I care because I needed to talk to someone!” he says, not loud enough for Scott and Theo to hear, “I care because it was breaking me apart from the inside! You say that you notice more things, but you don’t notice that I’m fracturing apart?”

            “Yeah well Lydia didn’t notice either!” Malia snaps, “She was too focused on the best way to fuck Parrish!”

            “How does Lydia fall into this?” he’s confused now.

            “Because you love her,” Malia sighs like it’s taking everything to admit this, “I said I noticed more than you think I do because I _do_ ,” her voices nearly breaks, if he didn’t know Malia he probably wouldn’t have noticed it, but even so, it’s Malia and she hardly ever breaks, “I see the way you look at her.”

            “What is the way I ‘look at her’?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

            “You look at her like she’s the moon, and you’re the goddamn sun, and even though it kills you to let her live you do anyways, you keep saving her, keep loving her and I’m so fucking sick of being some experiment.”

            He can’t find his voice, but somehow manages a bewildered, “Experiment?”

            “Yes, experiment,” she snaps, “I asked Scott. You’ve been in love with her since the third grade, and I was just someway to see if you could fall out of love with her, wasn’t I?”

            “Malia – “

            She holds up a hand, “Don’t,” she says, and she sounds so tired, more tired than she ever has, “We’re done Stiles.”

            A breath escapes him in a whoosh, and it feels like a punch to the stomach, but at the same time – _relief_?

            “Done?”

            She blinks, and then again, “Done.”

            She leaves, but it doesn’t make him feel any different.

            You can’t break something that’s already broken.

***

            He stalks up to Lydia’s door, deciding that he was going to see where she was. They had checked her house earlier, but it had been empty.

            This time, Lydia’s Mother opens the door, and at the sight of his face, guilt spirals across her form.

            “Stiles.”

            He’s unrelenting, “I can’t find Lydia. Where is she.”

            “She’s,” her mother hesitates, but resolve stiffens her, “She’s in Eichen House.”

            She might as well have said that Lydia was in hell.

            “What?” Stiles demands.

            “I found her in the forest,” Natalie says, “I had to track her phone. She was – she wouldn’t talk and when she did, it was all nonsense. Something about voices, and Allison and death. She was going crazy. I had to – “

            “YOU SENT HER TO THAT PLACE?” Stiles shouts, “YOU SENT HER TO THE ONE PLACE – “

            Natalie is frightened, “I just wanted to help her.”

            “You know,” Stiles’ voice is shaking, “You know the truth of the world – “

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snaps.

            “You know what Lydia is! You know what Scott is – “

            “All I see is that Lydia looks like she’s going the same way as her grandmother!” she shrieks back at him, “And maybe if she gets treatment – “

            “THAT PLACE ISN’T GOING TO HELP HER!”  he screams, “IT’S GOING TO – “

            “You have no right to question my judgment!” she says shakily, “You’re not a parent. You don’t know – “

            He turns around, and then pauses, “She’s going to hate you,” he whispers, “She’s going to hate you for this.”

 

***

            His attempt to break into Eichen House ends as soon as he enters the door.

            “Oh no,” says the receptionist, “You are banned.”

            “I need to visit someone,” he says briskly, “Lydia Martin.”

            “You’re not family,” the nurse says, “And like I said, you’re banned.”

            He slams his fist down on the counter, “TAKE ME TO LYDIA.”

            “Do I need to call the police young man?”

            He laughs, “Good luck with that,” he turns towards the staircase. He’s been to Eichen before. He’s going to find Lydia, and they’re going to get the hell out of here. He’s done playing games.

            “Security!” the nurse shrieks, and two burly guards shock him before he can make the stairwell.

            “LYDIA!” he screams, “LYDIA!”

            They shock him again, just for good measure.

 

***

            “Dad, you don’t under – “

            “I do understand,” the Sheriff snaps, “I know that Natalie made a – made a mistake – “

            “We need to get Lydia out!” Stiles waves his hands around frantically, “Why is nobody panicking right now? She’s in a fucking madhouse – near the place where Allison died!”

            “Listen Stiles,” his Father is looking patronizing, and Stiles wants to slap him. Why was he the only one panicking? “I know you forget sometimes, we all do, but the supernatural isn’t the only thing that exists. You can’t just go in and rescue her, not without getting in trouble in the real world!”

            It’s logic, but it’s logic that makes no sense to him. Every bone in his body is thrumming the same tune, _Lydia’s in danger._

“We need to,” his voice breaks, “We need to get her out Dad.”

            He surprises him by enveloping Stiles in a hug, and he hasn’t hugged his Dad like this in a while, because he’s forgotten that he’s not the only one who takes care of the family, has rather forgotten that he still is (in legal terms at least) a _kid_.

            “We gotta, we gotta save her,” he whispers, his voice thick with tears, and his Dad pats the back of his head soothingly.

            “I know,” his Dad replies, his voice gruff, “I know.”

 

***

            “Tell me Lydia!” he’s more frantic today. She wonders why, “Tell me what they’re saying! Who’s going to die?!”

            He’s scared it’s going to be him. The voices aren’t saying his name though. The voices are saying – _screaming_ , another name. A name that pierces her stomach like a knife.

            “Stiles,” she murmurs, soft as a kittens fur, “Stiles is going to die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY IF THE 'before i commit to updating every tuesday' IS STILL AT THE BOTTOM FLIPPING IGNORE IT IT WON'T GO AWAY!!!


	5. breath of life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay that's it i give up on update days I LOVE TO POST THINGS SCREW PREWRITING SO YOU KNOW THIS COULD REALLY JUST BE UPDATED ANY DAY OF THE WEEK!  
> (you should probably subscribe to it if you want to know when lol.)  
> UM, thank you to snnowfrostt for beta-ing this.   
> and thank you to everyone for commenting and kudos-ing (is that even a word i don't think it is lol)

Scott wakes her up at midnight. It’s been barely twenty-four hours spent in Beacon Hills, and already she’s missing sleep.

            “They’ve found someone new,” he whispers, his voice harsh in the dim morning light, “Someone who’s been brought back.”

            Three out of the seven potential people that could be brought back. Lydia sits up, kicking back her covers.

            “Who?” is her only question, and she’s not expecting it to be anyone she knows. Them, the _McCall_ pack, don’t get things like that. They don’t get miracles.

            He pauses for a beat, like he can’t believe it, “Erica,” he breathes.

            The name sits unpleasantly in Lydia’s stomach. She had little to no contact with the girl before she was killed, other than her trying to periodically kill Lydia. She still remembers hearing about her death from Stiles of all people, his hands shaking slightly.

            He had been affected by her death, even if Lydia hadn’t been.

            “Where?” she’s quick to get up, pulling back her hair in a ponytail and accepting the boots that Scott hands her.

            “A clearing in the middle of the forest,” Scott says quickly, but there’s something else, something he’s not telling her, and she fixes him with her Lydia Martin death stare.

            “What else?”

            “She can’t,” he gulps, “At least Sheriff Stilinski is saying that she can’t remember anything from her death.”

            “She can’t remember that she died?”

            Scott nods, biting his lip. Lydia rolls back her neck, and starts for the door. This made things infinitely more complicated.

 

***

            Erica is wrapped in a blanket when they arrive, but she doesn’t look very happy about it.

            Lydia stares. She never met the other two who came back, hadn’t really seen the point of it, they were back now and that was that.

            She isn’t sure what she was expecting, maybe signs of decaying flesh, in fact, if she remembered correctly, Stiles had said Erica has already started to decay _anyways_ when they found her.

            She looks like she just woke up from a nap on the forest floor, skin clear and a normal color, her eyes still bright and vibrant, even her hair only had some dirt tangled in it, her lips still colored the cherry red they had always been when she was alive.

            “Erica?” Scott asks, stepping closer. Erica brings the blanket tighter around her body, and Lydia can barely see the torn remains of fancy clothes around her skin. The clothes she was buried in.

            “Scott?” she sniffs, sounding relieved at first but it’s quickly disguised by contempt. _That’s right,_ Lydia remembers, _she died before Derek lost his alpha powers._

It’s a strange thought, that this girl in front of her missed the worst of it, that she doesn’t know of the Noguitsune, Theo, the Berserker’s, The Dread Doctor’s – that she’s still, as much as she could be, innocent.

            The worst thing she had faced was the alpha pack and _Jackson_.

            A strange feeling fills Lydia, and suddenly she’s doubling over, laughing. It’s funny to her, hilariously funny for whatever reason, that when Erica was alive, Lydia was _fresh_. She hadn’t known about the supernatural.

            It’s the kind of laughter that’s more out of grief than actual amusement, that this girl remembers nothing of the last six years, wasn’t even alive to see her best friend die.

            “Is she crazy?” Erica asks loudly, and they’re all looking at her strangely. Scott, bless his heart, actually looks _concerned_.

            “You don’t know how lucky you are,” Lydia coughs, “Oh god,” and then she lunges forward and hugs the other girl. Erica stiffens beneath her grip, probably wondering what the hell Lydia was doing – but to Lydia it’s a reminder that maybe the McCall pack could have miracles.

            Maybe they weren’t hopeless after all.

***

            “So, you cracked,” Malia’s straight to the point, her voice unrelenting.

            Lydia looks sideways at her, “Cracked?”

            “Scott said, and I quote, ‘As soon as Lydia saw Erica, she began to laugh and then hugged her’.”

            “I knew perfectly well what I was doing,” Lydia says, shrugging. Malia looks at her sideways and then gives up, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel aimlessly.

            “You’ve changed,” she says.

            “Losing someone important to you does that to you,” Lydia remarks quietly, “I started laughing because Erica’s still so _new_.” It overcomes her again, and a small snort of laughter escapes her.

            “Ah,” Malia realizes, “You were laughing because you – “

            “Because I envy her,” Lydia taps her fingers against the dashboard, “She missed all the pain.”

            “So you wished you were dead?” Malia sounds concerned now, and Lydia shakes her head. _Promise me Lyds._

“I don’t wish that, I think at least,” she says, “Stiles wouldn’t want me to wish that.”

            “Just because Stiles didn’t want you to, doesn’t mean that you don’t,” Malia points out, and Lydia gives a little shrug.

            “Doesn’t it?” when Malia doesn’t respond, she continues, “I laughed because Erica is so _innocent_. She’s still young.”

            “So are you,” Malia argues, “I don’t think being twenty-five is exactly _old_.”

            “I feel old,” Lydia whispers, “Sometimes I feel like I’m seventy five.”

            ‘That’s when you go to a club, get drunk, and have a one-night stand,” Malia remarks, “It’s what I do.”

            Lydia laughs, even though she doesn’t think it’s the kind of joke you laugh at.

            “Erica’s back,” she says again, just because she can. “Something good happened.”

            “That’s what worries me,” Malia says suddenly, “Good things don’t happen to us.”

            The truth in that statement really reflects her life. “No,” she agrees, “They don’t.”

            “So,” Malia looks at her, “What’s going to happen next?”

            Lydia’s stomach sinks, “What do you mean?”

            Malia smiles, “When are things going to go to hell?”

***

            Malia leaves her with Kira, who apparently lives across the street from Scott, despite them being broken up.

            “So two seemingly random people,” Kira clarifies, “And then some girl that died who was apart of Derek’s pack?”

            “Yep.”

            “Wait, Derek had a pack?”

            Lydia almost wants to laugh. _Why me?_ she wonders, _why have I been here from the beginning?_

“I think Scott was going to call him,” Lydia traces her fingers over Kira’s wooden table. The Kitsune was making her a cup of tea.

            “We haven’t really had much time to talk,” Kira says seriously, and Lydia laughs (nervously.)

            “Not really, no.”

            “So without the interrogation stare from everyone,” Kira passes her the hot mug and takes a seat across from Lydia, “Have you moved on?”

            Lydia looks down at the light foam that’s resting on top of the tepid liquid, and blows it just to have something to do with her mouth while she thinks up an answer.

            “I lied,” she says softly, “I haven’t been too busy. I just – I _can’t_.”

            “You know, it’s not a bad thing to move on,” Kira says lightly, and Lydia is suddenly reminded that Kira was _the_ move on girl.

            “I know it’s not,” she says quickly, “I just – “ her voice falters, “I went on a date once, about three years after he’d been gone. And I thought, I can do this. It’s been long enough that I can finally get laid or something,” that brings a short laugh to her lips, but it doesn’t last long and sounds forced, “And then I sat across the table from this guy, and he was so nice, and I remembered how _not_ nice Stiles was, how he’d probably be making sarcastic quips at the waitress or debating over whether aliens were real or not over breadsticks and I – “ she swallows hard. “And I realized that I _couldn’t_.”

            “What happened to that guy?”

            “Well I started crying when they brought out soup, and I had to explain that my last boyfriend was massacred in the Beacon Hills Killing, and he tried to be sympathetic but – “ she shrugs, “He wasn’t _Stiles_.”

            “Do you ever think – “

            “That I will move on?” Lydia asks, “I don’t know. Maybe someday. But I still - I still see him everywhere I go. I still forget that he’s not there sometimes, when I remember a stupid dream I had or something, and I text him about it and I get the _not delivered_ notification because his phone’s been canceled for about six years now.”

            Kira’s good, Lydia thinks, she’s good to talk to because she doesn’t try to fix your problems.

            “You and Scott are the same I think,” she says quietly, “There was never another Allison or – “ she laughs, “Isaac.”

            Lydia raises her eyebrows, “Isaac?”

            “Scott broke up with me about a year after you left, and that was when Isaac came into town,” Kira laughs again, “They were a thing for about six months.”

            “Scott and _Isaac_?”

            “Malia and I couldn’t believe it either,” Kira shrugs, “But Mr. Argent came back into town, and Isaac just left. I think he was reminded of Allison and just _couldn’t_ anymore. Scott was devastated.”

            “Scott McCall deserves a fucking break,” Lydia comments, taking a sip from her tea. Kira regards her calmly.

            “You deserve a break too,” she lightly reminds her.

            Lydia doesn’t comment on this. _She didn’t deserve a break._

_promise me lyds._

_promise you what?_

_don’t – don’t give up._

She didn’t save him in time, she couldn’t save Allison in time, she was someone who was supposed to predict death and yet couldn’t see it in time. That’s why she didn’t deserve a break.

            _don’t let go stiles, don’t you dare – STILES!_

 

***

 

            “Can you please repeat to me again what the last thing you remember was?” the Sheriff asks her patiently, and Erica tenses. She doesn’t like this, the way everyone’s looking at her like she’s supposed to know some infinitely deep answer, but she just _doesn’t_ know.

            It almost feels like she’s about to have another seizure, the anticipation and dread deep in her bones. Something’s _wrong_.

            “Where’s Boyd?” she asks instead, and the Sheriff suddenly looks very sorry.

            “Erica – “

            “Where is he?” she demands, straightening. Boyd would know what was going on. Boyd always knew. “Or where’s Derek?”

            “Derek can be called,” the Sheriff says in almost soothing voice, “I promise.”

            “But where’s Boyd?”

            A deputy comes out of the trees, and whispers in the Sheriff’s ear.

            “What?”

            “We just found him,” the deputy says in an urgent tone, “Is it another one?”

            “Another what?”

            The Sheriff doesn’t answer, but murmurs something in the deputy’s ear. Then he turns back, his face a mask of indifference.

            “We just found Boyd,” he says calmly, “He’s in a similar state to… to yourself.”

***

            “I just called Derek,” Scott announces, “He said he’ll come and take care of Erica – he wants to ‘introduce her to the world slowly’ or something. But that’s not the most concerning thing.”    

            “What’s the most concerning thing?” Lydia sets down her mug of tea. Scott had walked in like he owned the place, but she supposed that in times like this, manors were easily forgotten.

            “Boyd’s back too,” he says, “I just got the call. They’re coming back faster and faster now.”

            “Why is he bringing this many people back?” Lydia bites her lip, looking at the copy of the Necromancer page before her, “It’s not only a dangerous ritual, but it says here that most hoping to bring people back only bring back one or two.”

            “So whoever this is, is like Voldemort?” Kira suggests.

            “What?”

            “Most people only made one horcrux,” she says, “Voldemort made seven. Is that kind of what this person is trying to do? Gain more power?”

            “By bringing people back to life?” Lydia asks, “What power can he gain from that?” she looks to Scott, “How are Boyd and Erica?”

            “Confused,” he answers, “But they don’t want to talk to me,” he smiles, but it’s a more tired smile, “I’m not Derek or Isaac. Liam’s with them now.”

            “Where is Derek?”

            “On his way,” Kira checks her phone, “He just texted.”

***

            His fingers twitch towards the dial and the sound of the radio gets slowly louder. He’s gotten more fond of music over the years.

            Besides, it helps distract him from all the thoughts swirling through his mind. The dead, coming back to life in Beacon Hills? Erica and Boyd, two members of a nearly forgotten pack, back? Still –

            A ghostly shape appears out of the darkness, the brief shadow of a person, and he jerks the wheel towards the left _hard_ , swerving dangerously close to the trees to avoid hitting the person.

            He then jerks the car to a stop abruptly, jumping out of his car and turning around with an angry snarl. What idiot was walking in the middle of the road like that?

            “Are you blind?” he roars – and then – but _no – it couldn’t be._

She was shivering, in a pretty flimsy dress, her black curls blowing slightly in the wind, her expression dazed and confused.

            “Derek?” Allison asks.


	6. when everything you touch turns to gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i'm updating twice in a row OMG but this story is so amazingly fun to write and i'm on break so yay! more updates to come! also, the next chapter is the one you've been waiting for ;)

“We need a plan Stiles,” Scott says, “It’s not like we can just barge into Eichen and demand them to give our friend back.”

 _Already tried that_ , Stiles thought grimly to himself, but fixed Scott with such an intense stare he was surprised the other boy didn’t back down at once.

“So what, we’re just going to leave her in there?” he was getting increasingly frustrated. Not being with Lydia, not knowing how she was, not being able to contact her, made his skin squirm, his stomach tangle in knots. His brain pesters him with round after round of endless doubts, worries, Lydia.

Scott looks appalled, “Of course we’re not going to just leave her in there! But we can’t ignore what Theo said – “

Stiles steps closer to Scott, rage boiling under his skin, “What did you just say?”

“He said a storm of death was coming Stiles, that’s not just something – “

“It’s something we totally need to ignore!” he snaps frantically, “I mean, what are you going to do? Just sit back and listen to him even after he nearly got all of us killed! He’s probably happy Lydia’s in Eichen, happy to see her locked up, and maybe _you are too._ ”

“Why would you say that?” Scott looks like an injured puppy, but Stiles is in no mood for his friend’s theatrics.

“I’m saying that because it’s true, isn’t it?”

“Stiles – “

“No, you know what?” he lets out a bitter laugh, “ _I’m_ going to go get her out myself. Maybe Malia will help.”

“Stiles you can’t – “

“I can, and I will,” he nearly shouts, “SEE IF YOU CAN STOP ME SCOTT.”

Scott’s mouth is turned down in a worried line, and Stiles is suddenly wondering how it turned into this, how suddenly their lives became a messed up tangle of supernatural demons and absolutes. When did they change from being the two nerds on the bench to being war veterans?

But no, he’s suddenly reminded, they’re not veterans yet, because the battles not over. They’re still at war. They’re still fighting for their lives.

***

In the end, he decides to go at it alone. It wasn’t something he necessarily wanted to do, but at this point he didn’t think he could trust anyone or anything.

His hands tighten convulsively on the steering wheel as he yanks the car around yet another turn.

It’s Lydia’s car. She had given him the spare set of keys during the craziness of junior year, and for whatever reason he still had them.He gave it twelve hours before Natalie noticed that the car was missing.

He has a plan, or a semi formed plan.

There was a large fence that surrounded the property line, lots of barriers and ways that people couldn’t escape. Somehow, the builders hadn’t thought to put in ways that people could be kept out – who ever wanted to break into a mad house?

As for escaping, Stiles had a plan for that too.

They would hide out in the basement until the search for Lydia drew away from Eichen House itself, and then they’d sneak out the front, once everyone thought they had left.

Then Stiles planned to hide her in his room. He could count on Scott to provide an alibi for him, and as for the rest – they’d figure it out eventually. Right now, it was just a priority to get her out.

He parks the car about a hundred feet from the building itself, he was counting on Malia responding to his text and hopefully coming to pick them up around twenty feet from the building.

If not, well he was probably going to be across every television screen with the word _kidnapper_ scrawled against the bottom of the screen.

The plan was going to work though. He had faith.

It was dark out, a half moon barely illuminating him as he went along, searching for the weak point in the tall fence that Malia had discovered during her time here, hoping beyond hope that they won’t have patched it up by now. If not, he would have to come back another day, and that _might_ just kill him.

He finds it, a small hole in the fence that’s barely enough that he can wiggle underneath it. He has a backpack (he doesn’t know what state she’ll be in and has packed everything just in case) and shoves it under the fence first, before sliding in on his belly next, the fence only barely scratching his back.

He’s dressed in the typical Eichen House clothes, his hair in a disarray, sweatpants and a t-shirt, those weird shoes with no laces – so in the hallways the guards won’t give him a second glance.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he takes it out, glancing at the screen. It’s from Malia.

_I’ll be there._

He grins, because it almost seems like the one flaw in his plan was being sewn shut.

He places his backpack straps over his shoulders and starts towards hell.

***

He thinks that the asylum people are too soft. Seriously, their locks were like the easiest things to pick ever.Then again, they didn’t let you have anything that could be possibly be used to pick a lock anyways.

He’s memorized the floor for the supernatural creatures, and he presses the button on the elevator with shaky hands.  He’s close now, so damn close to her that he can feel it quivering in his veins like a hot wire.

He knows something’s wrong the moment the elevator comes to a stop, because other than the hissing of various mad creatures, everything is quiet. There’s no attendant standing guard, no one watching over that which is trapped.

He steps forward, because he expected a fight, he had a vial of kanima venom clutched in his grasp and he was not afraid to use it, but no one had come for him to use it on.

He begins to gingerly walk down the hall and then –

“Are you here to save her?” it’s a small female voice, and he turns to see a tiny nurse wearing bloodstained clothes leaning heavily against the wall.

“What?”

“That girl,” she breathes, “The girl the man with three eyes took.”

“Do you know where she is?” Stiles is frantic, “Where?”

Her eyes flicker down the hall, “Last door,” she gasps, “Save her. He’s doing awful things.”

His hands are shaking now, anger pulsing through his veins, “Why didn’t you help her?”

“He has my family,” she cries, “I’m so sorry. Just save her. It’s too late.”

He doesn’t know what too late means, but starts off down the hallway at a run, frantic now. The man with three eyes had her? For what purpose could he possibly want her?

He comes to the last door, the last plain wooden door in this hall of damnation, and he wonders why it’s the only room without a window.

He wonders if the other inhabitants can hear her scream.

He shoves open the door with one solid whack, pushing into the room with all the force of a raging bull.

“Lydia?” he demands, “LYDIA?”

She’s lying on the bed, her head turned away from him, her body slack and oh god – he collapses by her form, and is relieved to see a pulse fluttering at her neck.

“Take her,” gasps a voice from behind him, and Stiles whips around. In his haste to get to Lydia, he had missed the man behind him. It’s the man they had visited before, his bloody rag still loosely tied around his forehead.  “She’s failed me anyways.”

This time though, it’s not the only place that’s leaking blood. A knife is stuck in his chest, a butter knife he thinks, but it’s shoved so deeply that it only means a slow death.

“I didn’t predict your death,” Lydia sings from behind him, “Because I was the one that killed you!” she lets out a maddening giggle, and Stiles decides that whatever has been going on here is far less important than anything he can do to free her.

Blood is staining her pillow, and there are tear tracks on her face.

“Lydia?” he whispers again.

“Stiles?” she whispers, and one sickly pale hand comes out to trail along his cheek, “Is that you?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m so – so sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

“You’re not real,” she whispers in such a heartbreaking voice that he’s already hating himself more than he should – his stomach in fierce tangled knots.

“Lydia are you,” he gingerly tilts her head to the side with two fingers, and gasps at the revelation. The gigantic red hole in the side of her head, still oozing blood.

He knows right then, that he’s going to have to call an ambulance. And okay, maybe he’ll get arrested for trespassing but it’s worth it.

_“911, what’s your emergency?”_

 


	7. hello from the other side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you guys will either hate or love me

His fingers shake, “I didn’t want this,” he repeats to himself through numb lips, and his whole body is shaking, “I didn’t kill all those people.”

            The voices press around him, whispering, _but you killed him,_ they all whisper, _you killed him._

He slams his fist down on top of the gravestone, blood dripping out from in-between his fingers.

            “That’s why,” he half-sobs, “That’s why I’m going to bring you back – Stiles!”

 

***

            Lydia stumbles into the room when they tell her that Allison’s the one to come back next. It’s a nervous anticipation, the want and the need of her best friend’s embrace thrumming through her veins like it’s a live thing, and she almost wants to cry right now – cry because this stuff _doesn’t_ happen.

            Derek is sitting with Erica and Boyd at Scott’s kitchen table, but Lydia’s eyes are almost magnetically drawn to the small figure curled up at the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

            “Allison…?” she lets the name fall from her lips in a puff of surprised air, her eyes going wider than she thought they could possibly go, at the sight of her best friend who’s still seventeen. Still too young.

            Allison’s head flicks up, and Lydia notes that’s she’s sitting with Malia and Kira on either side of her like guard dogs –

            Lydia nearly runs forward, and slams into Allison, her arms wrapping the other girl up in such a tight hug that she can feel her entire body _aching_.

            “Hey Lydia,” Allison mumbles, she sounds dazed and confused but Lydia doesn’t _care_ – _can’t_ care – because suddenly her best friend is back, and it feels like someone’s just poured a bucket of warm water over her head. You won’t wake up, it’s telling her, she’s real.

            “You’re back,” she cries, “You’re really back!”

            “Yeah,” Allison smiles at her, “The Sheriff said I’ve been missing for seven years?”

            Lydia’s mouth opens in a surprised o, before she turns back and gives the Sheriff a look. He just shrugs mouthing, _explain later._

“I’ve missed you so much,” Lydia promises, running a finger through Allison’s black curls, “Are you feeling okay?”

            “Just a little dazed,” Allison frowns, “I also don’t remember anything – they say Erica and Boyd were in with me?”

            Lydia frowns. Allison should know that they both were supposedly dead, her best friend had outlived them at least. She turns back and notices with surprise that Deaton is standing beside the Sheriff, and Liam has entered the room almost silently.

            “Hey Lyds,” Liam says casually, “Hayden wants to show you something before you ask Allison anymore questions,” he jerks his head towards the back room, and Lydia warily follows him.

            “What is it?” she turns around as Deaton follows them into the room, “And where have you been?” she accuses the veterinarian.

            “I’ve been doing some research,” Deaton says, “Looking for clues that might tell us what exactly we’re up against.”

            “The bestiary says – “

            “The bestiary doesn’t have all the facts,” Hayden says, pushing a lock of dark hair behind her ear. She steps closer, and Lydia notes that she’s holding a sheet of paper, “I was looking at the – the people killed during the massacre.”

            Lydia takes the paper from her, and the name _Stiles Stilinski_ curls up from the paper and aches at the center of her soul.

            “And?”

            “They were all supernatural beings,” Liam fills in, “Every last one of them, from Theo’s pack to the other seemingly random victims – everyone except for – “

            “Stiles,” Lydia finishes, “But wasn’t Stiles – “

            “Killed differently than most?” Deaton phrases it like a question, but they all know the answer.

            “Slashed so deeply across the chest that it tore too many internal organs for him to survive,” Lydia finishes, “Crushed his ribs and punctured a lung. But everyone else was shot in the head.”

            _it hurts lyds._

“So what I’m thinking,” Hayden murmurs, “Is that Stiles and the other victims were killed by different people.”

            His name itself feels like a slash across her chest, cutting deep into her very being, screaming _you’ve failed him_ over and over again like the voices in her head.

            “What does this have to do with Allison?” she finally whispers, because _positives_ here, don’t think about Stiles, who wasn’t coming back, because no matter how badly she wanted it, she didn’t deserve a happy ending. She couldn’t get one, not truly, because Stiles was killed in the massacre that was bringing people back.

            “It means,” Hayden says nervously, “That you can’t tell Allison that she’s dead.”

            Lydia feels like she’s missing something, some major point they’re trying to tell her, and it sits unpleasantly in her stomach – she doesn’t like not knowing things. Not knowing things inevitably lead to mistakes, and well – that posed enough of a problem as it was.

            “Why not?”

            “In my research on the Necromancer,” Deaton explains, “I found out that the Necromancer – whoever he or she may be, not only has the power to kill off those they’ve brought back – but I also got one underlying warning.”

            Lydia frowns. “What warning?”

            “Don’t tell the dead they’re dead,” Deaton’s frowning too, “But I can’t find records for _why_ – “

            “But does that mean – “

            “Allison doesn’t remember that Erica or Boyd died either,” Liam fills in, “It’s like those things have been edited out of her memories.”

            Lydia thinks it may have been easier if Allison remembered that she died. _it doesn’t hurt._

“Have you told Scott yet?” she asks Liam, because if anyone was to tell Scott, it would be his second in command.

            “I’ll call him now.”

            “So don’t mention being dead to any of three of them?” Lydia clarifies, and they all nod. “I’m going to go back to Ally now,” she says briskly, because she wants to hold her best friend close again and forget about all her demons.

            “Lydia?” she’s surprised to find Allison leaning against the wall, dressed in clothes that were slightly loose on her (Kira’s she presumed) and looking every bit of – well _Allison,_ with the shiny black curls and bright eyes.

            “Hey Ally,” she says weakly, moving to stand in front of Allison, her hands reaching out to take her best friends, “It’s all going to be okay now.”

            “Where’s Scott?” Allison looks slightly confused, “Stiles?”

            _why did this happen lyds?_

Lydia moves a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and gives her probably the oddest smile she’s ever given anyone, because having Allison back –

            The door slams open with a bang, and Scott barges inside, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly agape.

            “Allison?” he almost shouts, “ALLISON?”

            The way Allison’s eyes light up, the way she spins around to find Scott, it’s the way she promptly throws herself across the room to land in his arms, because maybe he’s _familiar_ , because maybe he’s her – he’s her home.

            It’s Scott’s arms closing around her, his face burying in her hair, his laughter bouncing off the walls and everyone else’s smiles because she’s _back_ , because the _it’s okay_ was really okay, and suddenly Lydia feels like she’s drowning.

            She’s so happy her best friend is back, a sort of raw happiness she can’t quite place inside her lungs, inside her heart and soul – but seeing Scott kissing her forehead and laughing – she realizes something.

            Scott McCall was getting his happy ending, this was it. This was his happy ending, this was the way he would move on, the way he would learn to smile again, because even though his brother was dead (and Stiles was his brother, in all ways that counted) he would have someone to smooth away his tears and kiss away his nightmares.

            She feels Stiles’ loss like the tears in his chest that had taken him away from her, feels it so deeply and so painfully that suddenly she needs _out_ , because Scott is leaning down to kiss Allison, because Erica and Boyd are holding hands, because Malia’s grabbing her car keys to pick up Theo from the airport, because Kira’s starting to move on – because everyone has _someone_.

            Someone to love them, someone to hug them and tell them that it’s all going to be okay, and Lydia doesn’t have someone like that anymore.

            _why did this happen?_

She backs up suddenly, through the front door, away from all the love and sweetness and stumbles into the yard, shutting the door as quietly as she can behind her and stumbling as far away from the house as she can make it – which is almost an entire block, before she collapses to her knees.

            She throws back her head and lets out a scream unlike any other, a scream of such grief and anger and _pain_ , she’s sure they can hear it but she doesn’t care – because she’s alone.

            Everyone she’s ever loved has left.

            “Oh god,” she digs her hands into the grass in front of her, “God oh god, Stiles where are you?” she leans forward, and she can almost feel his warm body beneath her as the life drains from him.

            _his blood was staining her hair –_

“Come back,” she whispers into the ground, “STILES!”

            There’s a pause, and the sound of running footsteps – but she doesn’t want Scott, she doesn’t want Malia, Kira or even Allison – she just wants _Stiles_.

            “Lydia?” his voice is frantic in her ears, and it almost hurts more, because it’s happening again, she’s seeing him again like she used to, and she doesn’t want to. It hurts more to see someone who’s gone and you can’t even – “Lydia?” his hand is on her shoulder, shaking it, and her head whips up faster than she thought possible.

            “Stiles?” she demands, he’s standing there with messed hair, a dirt streaked face, big eyes – but _no_ , it can’t be –

            “I heard you screaming – I’ve been wandering around in the forest for an hour and I couldn’t find my way out, I don’t know what’s been happening – “

            “Stiles?” she whispers again, and his eyes are too wide, and his mouth is a turned down bow and he looks concerned, but she doesn’t even care. “Is that really you?”

            “Lyds – “

            Her feet are shaky as she stands up, her hands quivering, because no – because it can’t –

            “Stiles?”


	8. i wanna be your left hand man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just a filler, but i also have playlists for you guys to listen to! (it's the music i listen to while writing this so) i have a link for one on apple music and one on spotify, but they're exactly the same.   
> i would use 8tracks but it's been a pain in the ass lately.

[apple music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/you-cant-wake-up-this-is-not/idpl.11ce8b03d0d2418db63e6e88959e291d)

[spotify ](https://open.spotify.com/user/sassywriterchick/playlist/5Bt1GFJwV5C6wTsjf7DzZ2)

****

            To say his Father looked disapproving was probably an understatement. The Sheriff was standing with his arms crossed, his mouth in a nearly straight line, and looking like well – like Stiles had murdered a cat or something rather than save someone’s (innocent he might add) life.

            “What did we talk about last week?” he asks Stiles, his voice almost as scary as his face, “About how the normal and super – “

            “Okay in this case,” Stiles protests, holding up his hands, he’s in the cell at the station, and is rather glad that the bars are there to protect him from his Dad. “In _this_ case, it was supernatural involved.”

            “I think you’re forgetting the part where most of the world doesn’t know that the supernatural exists,” Sheriff Stilinski hisses, his face turning red, “Which means you are under charges for breaking and entering!”

            Stiles backs away slightly, “They were _torturing_ her Dad. Torture. As in excruciating pain.”

            His Dad sighs, “I know. That’s what the hospital told us. What we’re going to have a hard time figuring out, is how to prove that you weren’t the one that killed Valeck, and hurt Lydia.”

            “Are you kidding me?” Stiles demands, “They’re seriously – You know I didn’t hurt her Dad! And as for Valeck – I don’t know,” his voice doesn’t falter, “I think one of the nurses did that to him.”

            Lydia doesn’t deserve everyone staring at her like she’s a monster. _Some of us, are human!_

“Proof?”

            “Lydia.”

            “She’s unconscious at the moment,” his Dad says, “But as soon as she wakes up – we’ll try to get a statement.”

            “Oh and Dad?” Stiles asks, before his Dad turns away, “We’ll figure this out. Don’t – don’t use any money to get me out or anything.”

            His Dad seems to deflate slightly, “Never thought I’d see the day where you were behind bars.”

            Well, of course that makes Stiles feel like absolute shit.

***

            He eventually falls asleep on the crappy jail bed, even if it’s uncomfortable as hell and his mind is spinning in circles.

            He’s awoken by a hushed _Stiles_ and the sound of someone creeping into his cell.

            He’s startled when that person crouches before his bed, and then promptly pokes him in the face.

            “Wha – “

            “Shhh,” that person whispers again, “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

            “Lydia?” he sits up, and then looks down at her in surprise, “What are you – _how_ \- ?”

            She’s wearing a soft blue dress, and her hair is pulled back from her face in a delicate braid, her eyes big, her head hole free and her face relatively innocent.

            “Shhh,” her hand reaches out and places itself against his lips, stopping any sound, “I’m not really here.”

            “Oh,” he murmurs, “I’m just going crazy.”

            She rolls her eyes, “Trust me, you don’t know what crazy is _like_ ,” she hesitates, biting her lip and then continues, “Okay so I’m not here to anyone else, but I’m here to you.”

            He looks at her. Blinks. Then, “Excuse me?”

            “Do you remember, when you drowned and reawakened the – “

            “Yes, I remember when that fucking tree began to ruin our lives.”

            “Well,” she moves so she’s sitting, her head resting against the side of the bed, “You bound yourself to me. And that’s why I’m here.”

            “So, what, we can like travel into each other’s dreams or something?”

            “Something,” she echoes, “I think it’s only because Valeck enhanced my powers.”

            “He did?”

            “By drilling that hole into my head,” she shudders, and he slides down so he’s sitting next to her, and before he can stop himself – he reaches over and laces their fingers together.

            “Did it hurt?”

            She rolls her eyes, “No, having a hole drilled into my skull _didn’t_ hurt.”

            “You’re okay now though.”

            “Stiles,” she bites her lip, “Did I – did I kill him?”

            “Who?”

            “Valeck.”

            He hesitates, and then nods. She lets out a shuddering sigh, and turns to press her face into his shoulder.

            “I didn’t – “

            “Did Scott ever tell you about Donovan?” he interrupts, and she frowns.

            “Prison boy?”

            “I killed him.”

            She sits up straight, her eyes going wide – “What – “

            “The Jeep broke down, just like always,” his fingers are shaking, he’s never actually _talked_ about this with anyone, Scott hadn’t waited for an explanation, “And Donovan came out of the darkness and attacked me.”

            “Your shoulder,” she says faintly, “You told me you had a bad elbow.”

            “I ran into the school, but he found me. I accidentally – we were climbing – I pulled - he fell and – “ he stops, his voice choked.

            “It wasn’t your fault,” Lydia says automatically, “He didn’t give you a choice. He _attacked_ you.”

            “Scott doesn’t seem to think so,” he says quietly.

            “Scott likes to think he’s a knight in shining armor,” Lydia says, “You’re – you’re just Stiles.”

            He doesn’t know why he does it, and to outsiders it must look _especially_ odd, but he pulls her in suddenly for a very abrupt and tight hug. He’s expecting her to pull away, they haven’t been on the best of terms lately, she’s become less of his friend and more of his helper – but she accepts the hug gladly, burying her face in his shoulder.

            “We’re going to figure it out Lyds,” he says softly, “Just you wait and see.”

***

            “

 

 


	9. can you hold me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mwhahahaha

She freezes, her eyes locked on Stiles, her heart pounding against her ribcage like a hammer pounds on a nail – and he’s looking back at her, utterly confused.

            “Stiles,” she whispers, her breath hot and vulnerable, and she stands up and practically throws herself on top of him, because she can’t quite stop herself now, and he’s startled as he warily wraps his arms back around her.

            He smells like dirt and the forest, but the feeling of his cheek brushing against the side of her head is as familiar as her favorite book, the way his arms are holding her – she needs this, she needs him, for as long as he’ll stay –

            “Are you,” she coughs, tears still streaming down her face, “Are you real?”

            A confused air enters his eyes, “What do you mean?”

            “Are you real?” she demands again, and then, softer now, her voice on the edge of breaking, “You’re – you’re here right?”

            He grins, a soft concerned grin that warms her heart and makes her head spin, “Of course I’m here. Did you hit your head or something?” he places two fingers underneath her chin and lifts her face, staring into her eyes like he’s looking for signs of a concussion.

            “Oh god,” she whispers, “You’re the next one.”

            “The next what?”

            But she’s throwing her arms around him tightly, roping his lean frame to her’s in a frantic embrace, before moving so she’s pressing kisses over his eyelids, his cheeks, his lips, the top of his head, his ears, even his neck because oh _god_ – it’s him.

            Every doubt, every concern and worry she should be housing inside slowly evaporates at the underlying smell of Stiles, at the nervous concerned laugh in her ear.

            “LYDIA?!” Scott shouts, but she doesn’t turn around. They probably heard her scream, they probably thought she was in trouble – but it was the opposite, she was the opposite of in trouble, she was relieved, every ounce of stress and anger leaking out of her bones with the feeling of his body curved around his –

            “Stiles?” it’s Malia now, surprise in every syllable, because Malia loved Stiles once, Malia knows what it’s like to miss him, and she imagines all of them are behind her, triggered by her scream, watching her holding him.

            “He’s back,” she sobs, not caring about anything, “Oh god you’re back.”

 

***

            Eventually they pry her away from him, if only to explain that he had been ‘missing’ for the last six years and had probably forgotten everything that had possibly happened, to get him changed into new fresh clothes and give him a shower to wash the dirt out of his hair.

            They take him to his Dad’s house, and Lydia is startled to find that as she leads Stiles up to his room (the rest of the pack trailing after him in wonderment, except for Allison and Scott, who are still too wrapped up in each other) that his room is _exactly_ the same.

            She sits, folded on his bed, wondering idly to herself if the last six years have been but a dream, and she had never left, Stiles had never died, hell, Allison never died.

            It’s like her life has a big reset button and she’s just pressed it, and suddenly she’s wiser, more known, but she doesn’t have the same ghosts surrounding her in choking waves.

            Her phone buzzing startles her, she nearly jumps a foot in the air, she wasn’t expecting –

            “Lydia? Hello this is Dr. Smithson?” her therapist’s voice startles her, she hasn’t even thought about her other life, too many things have happened –

            “Oh Dr. Smithson, hello!”  Lydia nervously twirls a strand of hair around and around her finger, biting her lips.

            “I just wanted to make sure everything’s okay.”

            “Everything’s great!” Lydia says, “I mean, there’s been some…” her eyes dart to the door where Stiles is behind, showering, “Surprises, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

            “Oh good,” she rambles off, but the doors opening and Lydia interrupts her before the conversation can go anywhere –

            “Can I call you back? It’s um – about to – bye!”

            There’s something about Stiles face as he looks at her that’s confused.

            “What’s wrong?” she asks, trying not to sound too nervous.

            “You’re wearing jeans,” he finally says, and Lydia realizes that since the initial shock of seeing him alive, this is the first time it’s been the two of them.

            She laughs, surprised, looking down at the blue denim, and then tears well up in her eyes before she can stop them. It’s been like that nonstop lately, like there’s an entire flood hidden behind her eyelashes and _oh god –_

She wants to tell him, wants to tell him what his leaving her has done to her, what his death has caused on her person, the endless trips to his grave, the screaming, the clawing at the dirt – she wants to tell him that they never found his killer, despite Scott’s best attempts, wants to tell him about the black blood that had tasted like metal when she kissed him goodbye, wants to tell him about watching the life fade from his eyes and mostly –

            “Lyds?” his voice is so innocent, so sincere, and it tears at her heart with sharp claws, “You missed me a lot, didn’t you?”

            It’s such a stupid question, and he says it in the way a five year old might be stating the weather, but she nods anyways, her stomach twisting into painful knots.

            “Do you – “she chokes, “Do you remember anything?”

            He frowns, “The last thing I remember is running on the Lacrosse field and seeing,” he pauses, his eyes going wide, “All those people! They died!”

            Her heart nearly ceases beating, _he saw the aftermath._

“We found their killer,” she lies, because Stiles can’t look into the massacre, it wouldn’t be good if he found out what really happened to him, but she’s – her hands start shaking again god damn it, and suddenly he’s looking at her like she’s the sun.

            “You brought me back,” he says wonderingly, “You brought me back from the place I was taken to.”

            She half-laughs, “No I didn’t. You somehow escaped all on your own.”

            “But it was your voice I heard screaming for me,” he kneels by her, his face peering into her’s, “It was your voice that helped me come back.”

            She’s leaning down, and he’s curving his face upwards, and when their lips meet, it feels like coming home. She pulls him closer, until he’s resting on the bed with her, his lips carving comforting paths into her soul.

            “You know,” he says, “I may not remember, but I bet I missed you.”

            _do dead people miss the people they left behind?_

She pushes the thoughts aside. They don’t matter. They’re pointless, inconceivable options as long as he’s here –with her – _now_.

            She still has to find the Necromancer though.

            She can’t let them, whoever they may be, take this away from her.

 

***

           

            Allison’s sleeping on a corner of his couch, her dark hair spilling over the sides, looking peaceful. He still can’t shake the feeling however, whenever he looks at her, that she’s still a walking corpse.

            Scott’s fingers tremble slightly as he dials the number, pushing all the misdirected guilt and nervous energy to the back of his mind. This was a _good_ thing. Even if he felt like a storm was coming.

            “Hello?” Isaac’s voice is gravely in sleep, because he was probably in freaking Europe, and it was like five in the morning or something. It sends tingles down Scott’s spine despite his own protests.

            “Hey Isaac,” Scott rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “It’s Scott.”

            Isaac sounds more awake when he answers next, “Oh, Scott, it’s – uh – unexpected to hear from you again.”

_i can’t do this anymore._

“Yeah, well I have some news to share,” Scott licks his lips nervously, his eyes flicking to Allison. He had just called Mr. Argent, and the man was on the next flight, but he knew he couldn’t postpone talking to Isaac any longer.

            “What kind of news?”

_just let me in scotty._

“Big news,” Scott almost chuckles to himself, but stops because it sounds weird, “Um – so people have recently been coming back to life in Beacon Hills – “

            There is an audible crash from the other side, and the distant sounds of someone swearing before Isaac – “Sorry, I dropped the phone, but what did you just say?”

“The dead are coming back,” Scott’s nervous again, his stomach tangling in knots, because Isaac’s always _known_ –

            “Is she back?” his voice is abrupt, “Allison?”

            “Allison, Erica, Boyd, and Stiles,” Scott ticks off the names on his fingers, and each one feels like a tiny victory.

            Isaac sucks in a sharp breath, but when he talks again, his voice is firm, “Sounds like I’m coming home.”

            Scott grins, butterflies replacing the nerves, “Sounds like you are.”

            _scott, are you breaking up with me?_

_i- i can’t do this anymore isaac._

_all you have to do is just let me in scotty. what happened? what happened to stiles?_

“I’ll be on the next flight out,” Isaac declares, “See you soon.”

            He hangs up, and Scott still feels the words they didn’t say between them like tiny daggers.

 

***

            Malia twirls the car keys around her fingers as she watches Theo approach her car through narrowed eyes.

            “Hey,” he says, sliding into the passenger seat like he owns the place, and she bristles.

            “Hey,” she answers, jamming the key into the ignition, feeling the tension that’s always existed between them spring up like an annoying Jack-In-the-Box toy that won’t stop popping up.

            Not anger.

            Sexual tension.

            “So,” he leans back, giving her that grin he _knows_ she hates, “Fill me in?”

 

***

 

            Erica pads quietly up to her Mom’s door, her fingers curling and unfurling, but she doesn’t make a sound. Nobody knows she’s here after all, but she had to see – just _had_ to see how her Mom was doing. Even if the Sheriff and Derek had forbidden it.

            Triggered by the reappearance of Stiles and Allison, she and Boyd were kept out of the limelight, and she managed to slip away. She gave it another oh, two hours before they noticed she was gone?

            It wasn’t like she was super noticeable in the first place, despite her every efforts to be the _most_ noticed.

            She knocks firmly on the door, determined now, hoping that her Mom wouldn’t have moved in the seven years she’d been missing.

            She didn’t understand why the others didn’t want her coming back here, because it was her _Mom_ , and Erica wanted her to know that she was okay and safe –

            Her Mother opens the door, looking thin and pale, wrinkles decorating her face like makeup, her eyes dark and shadowed. Her mouth drops open when she sees Erica on her doorstep, and Erica warily opens her arms, hoping for a nice, proper hug.

            “They found me –“ she begins, but her words are drowned out by her Mother’s sudden cry –

            “But you’re dead!”

            _Dead._

_what do you think –_

“What do you mean?” Erica asks slowly, but her Mother is shaking her head.

            “I must be dreaming,” she says, “I must be dreaming because there is no way you’re here, you died.”

            _what do you think will happen to us on the lunar eclipse?_

She falls to her knees, clutching her head, tears squeezing free of her eyelids, as pain hits her head.

            _maybe it’ll make us stronger._

“Dead?” she repeats, and her Mother sobs, clutching the doorway.

            _standing, growling, angry, glowing eyes, claws out, ready to attack, lunge – lunge and – and pain. claws tearing into her throat._

_reaching out – “boyd.”_

_dead._

_dead._

_dead._

_you’re dead._

 

 


	10. part two - into the dark -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRST, THIS IS SHORT FOR ONE REASON.  
> It's not an actual chapter really, lol, it's more like a prologue for the real second part.  
> THAT'S RIGHT, INTRODUCTRY PART IS OVER GUYS, WE'RE GOING TO FIND OUT HOW HE DIED SOON-ISH.  
> ALSOOOOO I CHANGED MY USER BTW LOL  
> and my tumbler is sagexbrush, and my instagram is inhuman.stiles

****

**_part two of three_ **

**_of you can't wake up (this is not a dream)_ **

 

Lydia eyes flicker open in the hospital room, her dream (but it wasn’t a dream of course) with Stiles fading away as she sits up, her head feeling like it was slowly splintering open and her hands aching.

            “No,” she whispers, her hands moving to clutch at her head as the voices get louder, and now, that’s she’s actually talked to him, they seem clearer in their intentions. She’s sure now, that if she doesn’t do something – Stiles _is_ going to die.

            There’s a greater threat however, a threat so impossibly large she isn’t sure how none of them saw it before – and it makes her stomach twists into knots and tears rise to the back of her eyes –

            He’s coming back.

            Lydia gets up from her bed, the threat of what was going to happen – all the people who were going to die – who was coming back as they spoke – she _needs_ to tell them.

            She had known that her friends were in grave danger for months now, knew it like she knew the back of her hand, but now that she was out of that horrible place with it’s confusing rays, without his voice in his head – she knows exactly _what’s_ coming.

            “Lydia?” it’s Melissa McCall, standing guard at her door, a clipboard in her hands and a concerned, almost motherly look on her face, “Are you alright?”

            Lydia stumbles forward, catching at Melissa’s arm frantically, her eyes wide and panicked –

            “It’s coming,” she wails, practically screaming, “HE’S COMING!”

            “Who’s coming?” Melissa holds up Lydia, “You’re okay now – that horrible man is gone – “

            “Not him,” Lydia mumbles, the feeling growing, “He’s almost here,” she whispers, “He’s come to get revenge on all of us. He _wants_ us dead. He wants to – he wants to make us pay for what we did to him.”

            Melissa leads Lydia gently back into her room, pushing shut the door with her foot as she goes, and then places both of her hands on Lydia’s shoulders, fixing the other girl with a comforting stare.

            “Scott won’t let – “

            “He knows our weaknesses now,” she whispers, “He knows how to - oh god,” she slides to the floor, taking Melissa down with her, until both women are kneeling on the floor.

            “Who Lydia?” Melissa asks urgently, “ _Who_?”

            His face hovers to the forefront of her mind, dark eyes,  a wicked mouth, his face pressing against her hair – _i’m insatiable._

“Void,” she finally says, “The Noguitsune is coming back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please tell me your reactions i'm insanely curious.


	11. it's such a shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! i had the ACT. (yes i'm still in highschool - a lot of people on here seem to be in college???)

Stiles falls asleep before dinner, but Lydia honestly couldn’t be happier, lying curled into his side like a puppy, her head on his arm and her nose buried in his shirt. He’s confused, sure, but in time he would stop asking questions.

            In all actuality, she’s considering, once they’ve found the Necromancer and ensured that he’s not going to come back and steal this from her – maybe she can convince Stiles to run away with her. To some place, remote and quiet, where nothing supernatural could tear them apart ever again. Where nothing would find them.

            Like it had before.

            The door opens slowly, and the Sheriff walks in.  She smiles softly at him; content in the position she was in. The Sheriff himself hadn’t gotten much time with his son, mostly because he had to fill in the reports – they couldn’t just have _dead_ people randomly walking around.

            They had made up a story for the first two victims, but of course these were a bit more difficult because they hadn’t died of natural causes like the others, they had been stabbed and gutted and  - slashed apart by claws.

            She closes her eyes as the Sheriff takes the chair by Stiles’ bed, probably happy to watch over his son. She knows she should find it creepy, but somehow she _doesn’t_ – and well –

            It’s almost as if the thought of his death strikes her, and she doesn’t make any outward signs, but she suddenly remembers –

            They never found Stiles’ killer.

            There had been so many variables at the time, so many different monsters and blood and – the killer had never been found. No one in town had the capability to do such damage to his chest and besides –

            What if that person had killed Stiles for a reason though? What if Stiles had died, left her, because of something he had done?

            If word of his return came around –

            She disentangles herself from Stiles and stands up, beckoning for the Sheriff to follow her.

            They go into the hallway, everything quiet for once, it’s getting later and people are downstairs, letting Stiles sleep it off and cherishing the fact that their friends are back, but now a steely terror invades her chest and she can’t shake it.

            “We can’t let anyone know that Stiles is back,” she whispers frantically, and the Sheriff automatically looks confused.

            “What do you mean?”

            “We never found his killer,” she whispers, “we never – “

            “You’re afraid whoever killed him before is going to come back and make sure he does the job again,” he finishes.

            “Yes.”

            “There’s something you all need to remember,” the Sheriff says, sounding more tired, more exhausted than Lydia had ever heard him, “we’re treating them like they never died.”

            “He – he’s not dead!” she protests quickly, “I think – “

            “Just because someone’s back doesn’t mean that they’re not dead,” he almost _reminds_ her quietly, “we don’t know enough about what this entails. We can’t – we can’t assume that they’re back for good.”

            She knows that it’s hurting him just as much as it’s hurting her to say that, but it drives into her chest like a knife and she almost wants to – she doesn’t even know – punch him?

            “He’s going to be back for good,” she says firmly, “he’s – he _has_ to.”

            “You have to prepare yourself – “

            “No I don’t,” she says firmly, and she remembers the aftermath, the years of running, the constant ache in her stomach –

            “Lydia – “

            “Don’t you understand?” she asks, “This is it. This is the universe telling us that we’ve finally – _finally_ earned a happy ending.”

            She leaves him standing in the hallway, but his words are still tearing at her stomach like tiny knives, and it almost makes her want to throw up.

 

***

            “So what, are you just going to sit there and not say anything to me?” Theo asks her, and Malia instinctively tightens her grip on the steering wheel.

            “Technically I’m not just sitting there,” she reminds him, “technically I’m driving.”

            “Are you worried that I’m still angry?”

            “I’m not worried about anything involving you anymore Theo,” she lies, grateful for the solidness of the car beneath her, like an anchor tying her to reality, away from Theo – away from his haze, his confusion, his _everything_.

            “Well at least you can fill me in.”

            “I have,” she protests, “I told you everything –“

            “You didn’t tell me what has been done to find the killer,” he says, more firmly still, and she looks over at him guiltily for a moment before looking away again.

            “We – “

            “You haven’t been doing anything have you?” he asks in realization, “You’ve been so distracted by the people that have come back that you haven’t even been thinking about _why_ they’re back, have you?”

            “Theo – “

            “My pack died – were _murdered_ \- so a few measly members of your own could come back,” he starts off angrily, his face contorted, “And you just _forgot_?”

            “Of course I didn’t forget,” Malia snaps, “I stayed with you for two years after it happened, and you think I don’t remember?”

            “But you left in the end,” he spits like poison, and she automatically fires up.

            “You don’t understand – “

            “You know,” he laughs, an odd cold laugh that she _hates,_ because he likes to pretend that he’s that person, that cold, crude person, but she knows that he’s _not_. He never could be, in the end. “I think I understand more than you think I do. You just like running, don’t you Malia? Running from the things that make you _feel_.”

            “Fuck off,” she replies bitterly, turning onto Scott’s street with a rather bitter jerk of the steering wheel, wishing that she could punch him in his smirking mouth.

 

***

            Lydia walks downstairs to find Scott running his fingers through his hair; Allison curled into a corner of the couch. She moves to sit next to her best friend, Allison’s feet curling against her leg.

            “We need to – “ she begins, hoping that he’ll have a different approach to it than the Sheriff, but before she begins her spiel, screams resonate from outside.

            Scott doesn’t even hesitate, and is sprinting towards the doorway, Kira not far behind, and she hears a banging from the kitchen and she assumes that’s Liam and Hayden.

            Allison jerks awake, and Lydia doesn’t look at her twice before she’s following the others out the door.

            “Erica – “ she hears Scott saying pleadingly, “I don’t know what you’re – “

            “I’M DEAD!” she screams, and Lydia is horrified to notice that the other girl’s eyes are all black, like an insects, “You didn’t tell me. I’m – I’m dead. I should be dead.”

            Lydia’s eyes find the source of the screams automatically, a dead woman, lying limp at Erica’s face, her throat ripped to shreds, and all Lydia can think is – _oh god, why didn’t I hear her die?_

            She hears Allison behind her take a sharp intake of breath as the rest of the pack filters out into the yard, all facing Erica.

            “I’m dead,” Erica laughs again, “And I’m going to take you all down.”

            There is no logic there, none at all, but nevertheless Erica is lunging towards them, claws bared and snarling, and she whams into Scott, tearing into his skin.

            “SCOTT!” practically everyone screams, because he’s the alpha, and when he’s attacked it almost feels like _all_ of them are attacked.

            Liam moves the quickest, his years of following Scott around finally paying off when he tackles Erica to the ground, both of them tumbling together in a mass of claws and limbs.

            Derek is the next one to get involved, ripping Erica away and holding her arms behind her back in a vice grip, and she howls.

            “WHY?” she screams, the muscles in her throat working and her voice an entire broken mess, “WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST LEAVE ME BE?”

            _don’t tell the dead that they’re dead._

Lydia feels a presence behind her and turns to see Stiles standing there, hesitant, in the doorway, the rest of the pack swarmed around Erica.

            His eyes are wide as Erica continues to scream, looking so utterly confused –

            “What does she mean?” he asks quietly, “That she died?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> instagram : inhuman.stiles  
> tumblr: sagexbrush


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